


The Night Of

by Marauder_Lupine



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Big Brother Mycroft, Established Relationship, Gen, M/M, Parental Lestrade, Spoilers, Spoilers for The Six Thatchers, The Six Thatchers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-03
Updated: 2017-01-03
Packaged: 2018-09-14 12:06:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9180748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marauder_Lupine/pseuds/Marauder_Lupine
Summary: Greg watches over Sherlock on the night of the incident at the aquarium.I'm not tagging *THE* spoiler, but be warned there are indeed spoilers inside for The Six Thatchers.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers for The Six Thatchers.

The dim lights inside reflecting the blue of the water gave their surroundings an ethereal glow; the sharks swimming in and out of the columns of light streaming through from the outside made everything seem unreal. Walking throughout the twisting tunnels felt like a maze that would lead them to the chilly, evening air outside where they would learn that nothing, in fact, had been real. Only the animals in their tanks would remember what happened inside. Greg held his breath as he walked through the exit door, into the cool evening, but nothing was different on the other side. What had happened had happened and there was no chance it hadn't been real.

People dressed in suits on their phones, police officers, and rescue and combat teams were scattered around the aquarium entrance. He caught Mycroft's eye as the other man was talking with one of the men dressed in a suit. He walked over to Greg and said, "Take him home." Greg just nodded, and then watched as Mycroft got into a black car; he could see John was already inside, his hands covering his face. He watched them follow the ambulance as it pulled away from the scene. Greg stood dumbfounded for a few moments, entirely unsure what to do until Mycroft's assistant came up to him, letting him know their car was waiting.

“Come on,” Greg said to Sherlock, who had followed him out of the watery labyrinth.  
Sherlock nodded. He took two steps towards the car idling nearby before pausing to shrug off the blanket from his shoulders. “Why have they given me a blanket?” he asked.  
“It's for shock,” Greg explained.  
Sherlock tossed the blanket to the ground. “I know that. I'm not in shock.”  
Greg sighed. “You've been wearing it for the last half hour, Sherlock, and you've only just noticed it.”

Sherlock looked surprised but didn't question him.

“Let's get you home, lad,” Greg said as took his elbow and continued to the car. Sherlock didn't say anything after that. Not the whole ride, not even when they passed the turn to head towards Baker Street. He didn't say anything until they pulled up in front of the town house Greg and Mycroft shared. Greg had stepped out of the car and up the three steps to the door when Sherlock finally spoke up.

“I should go to John,” he said. Greg couldn't help but feel heartbroken when he heard the guilt in Sherlock's words. He opened the door and stepped back down to the walkway where Sherlock looked poised to take off.  
“Mycroft is with him,” Greg told him. Sherlock considered this for a moment, but before he could say anything more, Greg took him by the elbow once again and walked him up the steps. “Give him some time, Sherlock.”

Sherlock walked into the house with only slight hesitation. He wandered a bit in the foyer, taking his time in removing his scarf. Before he could remove his coat, he asked, “What about Mrs. Hudson?”  
Greg shook his head, toeing off his shoes and hanging up his own coat. “We'll go and see her in the morning. Let's let her have a good night's rest tonight.”

Sherlock nodded, agreeing that was probably for the best. She was a rock, but this would break her heart he knew. Sherlock passed his coat to Greg and Greg sent him into the kitchen to sit and wait for him. When he joined him there, he set the kettle to boil and made them each a cup of tea. Sherlock's eyelids were heavy and it seemed to take more strength than should have been necessary to raise the cup to his mouth for a drink.

“Off to bed with you, I think,” Greg told him before he could pass out at the table. Sherlock gave a token protest, but he was exhausted and gave in without much fight.

After he'd washed the cups and wiped the counter free of imaginary tea stains, Greg slowly made his way up to Sherlock's room. Sherlock almost never used it, more often than not couldn't stand being under the same roof as Mycroft, but whenever he came over looking to escape the constant chaos of 221B, it was always free of dust and just as he'd left it the time before.

Greg knocked before pushing the slightly closed down open. Sherlock sat at the edge of the bed, his shoes tucked neatly under the bed, the buttons on his sleeves undone. He looked over at Greg as he entered the room.

“I think I'm in shock,” Sherlock admitted. Greg nodded.  
“I made a vow to take care of them,” Sherlock told him. “I told Mary I would take care of them. Why would she jump in front of the bullet?”  
“Any one of us would have,” Greg answered. “Mary was just quicker... former-assassin and all.”  
“He won't forgive me this time,” Sherlock said after a few moments.  
It took Greg a long time to say anything. He didn't want to lie to Sherlock, but he couldn't bring himself to tear away what little hope he might still have that John would indeed forgive him. “We all cared about Mary,” he started. “But she's his wife and the mother his little girl. He's angry and upset and he's going to need some time, that's all.”

*******

“Gregory,” Mycroft said quietly trying to wake the other man who had fallen asleep in his chair near Sherlock's bed. “Gregory, dear,” he said again, brushing his thumb over a furrowed brow. The tender action finally woke him.  
“How's John?” Greg whispered, sitting up straight and stretching the kinks out of his neck.  
Mycroft sighed. “Back home for the night with his daughter. Doing as well as you might imagine.”  
Greg shook his head lightly, “I'd rather not, love, thanks.” Mycroft offered him a sad, apologetic smile.

His vision having adjusted to the darkness finally, Greg could see how exhausted Mycroft looked. He stood up, offering his seat to the other man. “Sit down before you fall over,” Greg said as he placed a light kiss to the corner of his mouth. Mycroft sat without protest.

“Go and get some sleep, dear,” Mycroft told Greg.  
Giving it a moment's thought, Greg reached for Mycroft's hand and nodded to the door. “Come with me,” he said. “Sherlock's not woken up once since he finally settled.”  
Looking at his brother, who seemed to be sleeping soundly, thankfully, Mycroft shook his head. “Someone should be here. Just in case.” Greg just nodded, not wanting to fight him on the matter.  
"You're right, we'll have to be here for him."  
“Thank you for bringing him home,” Mycroft said after a moment. “Did he give you any trouble?”  
“Not at all,” Greg said. “Poor lad.”  


Greg walked across the room and pulled a couple of blankets from the closet then. He draped one over Mycroft before folding another and tossing it gently on the floor at his feet.

When Mycroft realized what he was doing, he said to him, “there's no sense in us both foregoing sleep in a proper bed.”  
Greg shrugged his shoulders as he turned out the light on the night stand. “No place I'd rather be right now than with my boys,” he explained easily. He plopped himself down with a slight groan. When he was settled comfortably between Mycroft's legs, leaning back against the chair, head resting against his leg, he felt Mycroft run a hand through his hair.  


Mycroft rested his own head against the wing of the chair. "I'm worried for him," he said quietly into the darkness. "He doesn't cope well."  


It would be challenge, no doubt. A Sherlock who wasn't coping well was a Sherlock who made rash decisions, made bad choices, and said awful things. He'd do his best... For John, for Rosie. But there would be danger nights. Nights when John wouldn't be around to stop him from making a bad decision. They'd have to be there for him then.  


Greg looked over at Sherlock, barely making out the head of curls on the pillow, as he spoke. "We'll keep an eye on him, take care of him."  
Mycroft could only hum in agreement.

Their eyes drifted closed after a minute. Each of them with worries of what may come in the days and weeks ahead, wanting to just make it through the night of first.


End file.
